The East Side Story
by wearenotALONE1066
Summary: Its been a month or so since Johnny died, and ever since then, Dally has felt incomplete. No, he didn't die. He did rob the convenience store and got away, but ever since he's been distant. He's drifting, wondering what he's feeling and what to do about it. Dallas is beginning to feel like he *should* be dead, until he bumps into a girl on the street. *NON SLASH*


The morning when Dallas Winston died was a hot one. The early sun was reflecting off the flat Oklahoma land, forcing people into their homes. It was early August, on a Sunday, when Dallas died. He was walking down the street, boots scuffing the sidewalk and a cigarette hanging lazily out the corner of his mouth. His expression was bitter and filled with undirected hatred for something he hasn't found. It was pent up inside of him, screaming and tearing at his insides like an untamable beast. As he walked, he felt an urge to do something crazy and irrational. He wanted to jump off a cliff, or scream until his throat was raw. He wanted to cry, but if he couldn't do that, the least he could do was die.

He wasn't thinking it seriously yet, but he knew he had to do something to let off a little steam. He wanted to get wasted, or kill a person. He wanted to run from the cops. He longed for an adrenaline rush on a lazy Sunday morning in an empty town. Most people had gone to church that morning.

Dallas Winston always got what he wanted, but he always knew what he wanted and how to get it. This new feeling, though – grief, remorse – he had no idea what to do.

As he walked, he watched his worn out boots stride over the ugly, gum-ridden pavement and bumped full into somebody. It was more like he pushed, as he wasn't aiming to stop. For now, he was just going to keep on walking. But he bumped into somebody, who fell back on the pavement, books flying from her hands and a shocked gasp echoing in his brain. He looked up, then down, at the short girl sitting on the pavement.

Blood trickled down her arm. Any other day, he would have kept walking, but today he was going to die, and Dallas stopped. His blue eyes widened at the familiarity of the girl's features, but couldn't seem to place them.

"Man, sorry" He muttered. Dallas Winston was never sorry, he never stopped, but he had never been in remorse either.

The girl looked up at him, shocked as he was. _God, she's gorgeous_ Dallas thought as he helped her up.

Long, flowing caramel hair, dark eyes and lips like strawberry. He had never seen anyone like her, but she was so familiar.

"No, your fine" She answered, in the kind of voice that made people listen. It was quiet, but held a firmness and innocence he had never encountered. If this girl lived in town, he diffidently would have heard of her.

Dallas bent down and picked up a group of textbooks, handing them to her. The girl took them and seemed set to keep walking, but Dallas didn't want to walk anymore.

"Dallas Winston" He said, sticking out her hand – another first in an odd day. The girl smiled and shook his hand.

"Delilah Shepard" She answered. Dallas nearly choked.

"_Shepard_? As in related to Tim Shepard" He said it disbelief. No way in hell could this sweet girl be related to such a dirty hood. And he would have seen her around.

"Yup. You ride in rodeos, don't you?" Delilah asked, Hershey eyes curious. Dallas couldn't believe it. She knew him from rodeos, not from his rap sheet – which she might have heard of, but still she didn't mention it and was willing to talk to him. She looked at him like he was the most important thing in the world, not a dirty good-for-nothing hood.

"Yeah, I do. Do you go to Will Rogers?" He asked her, referring to the public high school. If so, Pony might know her. Delilah nodded. She apologized, and said she really had to go, but she enjoyed talking to him and gave Dallas her number.

Never had Dallas had to know a girl's number. Maybe except Sylvia, but she was around enough he never needed to call her. The others were just one night stands.

He took the slip of paper she handed him, and kept walking. Damn, if she wasn't the nicest girl he had ever met. Her face was accented in subtle makeup, and she wore her skirt too short and her shirt too tight, but she was _real._ She may be poor, she may be a Shepard, but she wasn't a greaser or a soc, that was for sure.

For the first time since Johnny passed, he felt right. He felt whole, or as close to it as possible. He felt real enough to visit Soda at the DX, or bum some of Darry's beer. Maybe, just maybe, Dallas Winston could go on living for another day.


End file.
